When they got together to play their final concert on Thanksgiving Day, 1976, rock and roll royalty all came out to honor The Band. It is captured in Martin Scorsese’s superb concert film The Last Waltz, often cited as the greatest musical film ever put on celluloid. Bob Dylan, for whom The Band had provided support for his infamous shift to electric music in the mid-1960s, was on hand. So were Eric Clapton and Joni Mitchell. Van Morrison and Ringo Starr. A pair of Neils – Young and Diamond. Dr. John. Paul Butterfield. Muddy Waters.
They all wanted to be part of a farewell to one of the greatest bands the modern rock era would ever produce. And I suppose that with the passing of Garth Hudson, the last surviving member of the quintet, on Tuesday, I want to be part of the farewell too.
Garth Hudson stood a bit apart in The Band. For one thing, he didn’t sing. Lead guitarist and primary songwriter Robbie Robertson didn’t sing very much either, but he could if necessary. It’s just that the band had three other singers who complemented each other so perfectly that there wasn’t much need for it.
Garth Hudson of The Band passes away at age 87
But with Hudson, he never even seemed to open his mouth. Maybe he had a beautiful voice, but if he did, we never heard it. He was usually ensconced behind his organ or hidden behind an accordion or saxophone. Those aren’t the instruments of vocalists.
Hudson was also a little bit older than the rest of the band. He was six years older than his three fellow Canadiens – Robertson, Rick Danko, and Richard Manuel. He was three years older than the lone American, Levon Helm. It was only a few years, but the gap seemed larger. Like Charlie Watts and the Rolling Stones, Garth Hudson seemed to come from a different era.
Hudson joined the group when they were serving as the backing band for rockabilly singer Ronnie Hawkins in the early 1960s. They parted company with Hawkins in 1964 and soon found Dylan. The great man was looking for a new sound, one that could marry his folk origins with an eclectic mix of blues, rock, and funk. The four Canadiens and one American in The Band were a perfect fit. They played shows. They jammed.
Music from those sessions was the stuff of legends. Eventually, a decade later, 24 of the tracks would be released as The Basement Tapes, a glorious collection of the most authentic American – truly North American – music you will ever hear played in the most easy-going, relaxed manner imaginable.
Dylan’s motorcycle accident removed him from the scene for a while. Hudson and company decided it was time to stop being the backup band and simply become The Band. They released their first album, Music From the Big Pink, on July 1, 1968. It didn’t sound like anything that had come before.
Not much since has matched it. There were standards, like “Long Black Veil." There were Dylan compositions like “I Shall Be Released.” And there were plenty of originals, including Robertson’s “The Weight,” which would become their signature.
The songwriting and the musicianship were outstanding. Manuel’s high tenor provided stirring leads on tunes like “Tears of Rage” or ethereal harmony on virtually anything. Helm was a fantastic drummer with a powerful baritone possessed of a great soul. Danko, who usually played bass, could sing anything and could throw in a turn on the fiddle when needed. Robertson was as good a songwriter as there was.
And the secret weapon, as he was called by Rolling Stone’s Paul Evans, was Garth Hudson, the big guy with the big bushy beard who didn’t look like he belonged in a rock & roll band. He looked like he came from a time before rock & roll was even a thing. What he added was texture.
That was the secret sauce in The Band’s music. The songs could be simple or complex, but they always sounded different. They incorporated different styles of music, and with Hudson’s inventive, evocative playing on organs and accordions, they didn’t sound like anything coming from any other band. They were essentially a progressive throwback, playing old-timey music in the most modern of ways.
There were other experimentalists around at the time – artists like Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart – who played in a similar sandbox. But where they could be intentionally opaque, The Band was highly accessible. Maybe Little Feat was the only other group from that era who could achieve some measure of popular appearance despite being so authentically different.
Hudson was always a vital member of the group and never was that more apparent than on the second album, simply titled The Band. It is recognized as their magnum opus, with Robertson classics like “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” “Up on Cripple Creek,” and “Rag Mama Rag,” all sung by Helm.
Hudson plays everything. Three different types of sax. Five different types of keyboards. The unusual soprano trombone and the accordion. That accordion cradles Manuel’s vocals on Robertson’s lovely “Rocking Chair.” His soul is all over the towering “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” He plays melodica, organ, and a bit of trumpet. His jaunty piano work puts the rag in “Rag Mama Rag.”
That unique funk on “Cripple Creek?” Hudson’s clavinet with a wah-wah pedal. And his organ soared around the chorus. Mostly, he applies his magical touch on the Lowery organ, something he had done to such astonishing effect on Big Pink’s titanic “Chest Fever.” You hear that organ and you know you are hearing a remarkable Band.
The Band would put out five more albums before calling it quits in the late ‘70s. Some were sensational, like Stage Fright (1970), and some were uneven, like Cahoots (1971). But they always sounded like The Band, and that alone made them stand out. Manuel, who had battled substance abuse problems during much of the Band’s heyday, committed suicide in 1986. By that point, Robertson was no longer a member.
Robertson, Helm, Danko, and Hudson all continued performing and recording. Sometimes together. Sometimes with new partners. Hudson released his fascinating solo album The Sea to the North which takes the listener on an amazing musical journey. It doesn’t sound much like a Band album. Garth Hudson was exploring newer and newer sonic textures by that point.
And Rick Danko had died by then as well, a victim of heart failure in 1999.
Hudson played along with Helm on 2004’s country rock album The Howlin’ Hill Project, backing up Gary McCoy and Doug Thomas. Then Levon passed away in 2012. Only two of the original Band were left.
Before his death, Helm had been open about his displeasure with the way things turned out with Robertson. Robertson had written many of The Band’s best-known songs but Helm, Danko, and Manuel had all contributed. Robertson bought the publishing rights from his bandmates and Helm expressed bitterness about the whole thing.
But Hudson never said an unkind word about any of them. He admitted that he wasn’t the songwriter the others were and he was just happy to be there for the amazing ride they took together. When Robertson died in 2023, Hudson was the only one left.
And now that he has gone, The Band is no more. Of course, it hadn’t been a significant factor in the music world for many decades by that point. But by God, were they significant in their day? Significant enough to have everyone show up for their farewell.
Farewell, Garth. Farewell Band. You’ll be gone in moonshine time. You’ve got a place they’ll never find. I know what I’ll be listening to tonight.